


Memory Lane

by TheBadgeringWitness



Series: The Castle Poltergeist Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Gen, Gen Fic, One Shot, Swearing, your daily dose of Sodium
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 20:17:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10974612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBadgeringWitness/pseuds/TheBadgeringWitness
Summary: Peeves the Poltergeist has an excellent memory.





	Memory Lane

“Oh yes, the dementors will be performing the kiss soon. They’re very eager,” says Fudge, a sort of triumph filtering through his words. He’s relieved to be rid of the notorious Sirius Black. The scandal his escape from Azkaban caused was something he wasn’t sure the Ministry could properly recover from. But they had him now, almost eleven months later, and soon that chapter in the book of Ministry Fumbles would be closed. People would stop being so worried. Faith in him, in the Ministry of Magic, would be restored.

Albus Dumbledore walked alongside the Minister with the patience and grace that only came with experience and age. It was hard to tell what the Headmaster was thinking sometimes.

The Minister of Magic continued:  “They’ve been keen to get to him. Can’t say I blame them, we’ve been looking for Black for months. To think, he was hiding in the Shrieking Shack for all that time-”

Peeves, from his place over the stairwell, watched the Minister with his usual malicious grin. For once, though, this grin wasn’t aimed at the person he was looking at.

Despite what people thought - and he knew that _everyone_ thought so, no matter if they were alive and kicking or walking the line between this world and the next - Peeves tended to pay attention to things. He had an excellent memory. Why shouldn’t he? He was a thousand years old. He practically came with the castle when it was built. He could tell you what the Founders got up to in their spare time, how they taught their apprentices, what they looked like when they fell prey to one of Peeves’ tricks. He could recall many people’s faces, from all different eras, when his teasing had hit too big of a sore spot and they either ran off in tears or shouted insults or tried to curse him; usually, this was because these reactions were his favorites, or because it was a note of triumph for him to finally break a person’s limit. He could tell you the particularly juicy scandals that once took hold of the castle - usually because he too, would talk about it, usually mockingly, and he always got a reaction of some sort.

He wouldn’t _actually_ tell you, of course. Nosy kiddies were given nothing worthwhile, and everyone was a kiddie to him. He was older than any of the ghosts, even, though few liked to admit it. They were more mature than him, at least, and _that_ Peeves would admit, but he’d always follow with ‘ _that’s so overrated, anyway_.’ Better to have fun for your whole existence than to complain about how people didn’t follow things like _rules_ and _manners_.

Of course, there were lots of things he wouldn’t _bother_ remembering long-term. With few exceptions, he forgot people who didn’t react much to his mischievous ways. He forgot details about people he considered boring. He forgot the dull people, people who went with the madding crowd, people who kept their head down twenty-four hours a day and never did anything the slightest bit noteworthy.

But of course he remembered Sirius Black. It was hard to find a teacher in those seven years who _didn’t_. Sirius Black, James Potter, ‘Loony’ Remus Lupin, and little Peter Pettigrew were practically _inseparable_. The Marauders, they privately called themselves, and Peeves felt it fit them. The whole lot of them were notorious troublemakers, all having a laugh at the expense of someone else in one way or another.

They were Peeves’ sort of people, really. He didn’t do them favors, didn’t treat them too differently from other wee student beasties - he admired them, was all, even if they managed to piss him off here and there. Fellow pranksters up to snuff with his own antics were to remembered specially, in his mind. If his consciousness was sorted into folders, those four’s best antics were stored in a special file with place of honor next to his ancient memories of the Founders and his newer ones of the Weasley twins. They were ones he looked back on with a real sort of pride and enjoyment.

For a while, and more often during the War, Peeves wondered what the Marauders got up to after their education. He heard rumors, whispered conversations, and facts about what they were all doing with their lives, but he never heard anything outside of who they were fighting for, who they married, or what secret task they were given. The war had come shortly after they had graduated. He knew James had been vying for a Quidditch position. He knew Remus, the most boring of the bunch in terms of personality, had not a lot to go on, despite his supposed good marks. Peter and Sirius were trying for spots somewhere in the Ministry, in entirely different areas from what he could remember. He never heard about what trouble they had themselves gotten into, and that was what he _really_ wanted to know. Still, he thought about them all rather fondly from time to time.

Until twelve years ago.

The people said it louder and quicker than the Daily Prophet could, and Peeves had heard quite a few of their conversations - Voldemort was nowhere to be seen. The world rejoiced, and they even allowed Peeves to join in the festivities for a while. He remembered that party like it was yesterday.

Then he found out that James Potter was dead. It was like the world had lost a little bit of it’s shine, right then. Peeves would never see one of James Potter’s pranks again. The only consolation was that James died the way he would’ve wanted - at least according to his friends - and that he had a son who was destined for Hogwarts, and that son was the savior of the magical world. That kid was going to be a _riot_.

And then, a day later, while the party was still fresh and lively, there was more news.

There was no need to listen in on conversations - the newspaper screamed it from the front page in bold letters before anybody could say a word about it that morning:

**TWENTY MUGGLES KILLED IN EXPLOSIVE DUEL**

PETER PETTIGREW’S BODY STILL MISSING

It was probably the first time Peeves had actively read a whole newspaper article from cover to cover. He read every follow-up piece, too, hoping for some sign of innocence, some sign that another Marauder wasn’t really dead and that the best remaining Marauder hadn’t been the one to do him in. But the stories said it all in black and white. Sirius Black, the Double-Agent. Sirius Black, Voldemort’s Follower. Sirius Black, Muggle-Killer. Sirius Black, Murderer and Betrayer.

Peeves remembered feeling a lot of things that week. A lot of intrigue. Some disbelief. A dash of denial. Weird bursts of betrayal and rage. The odd feeling that something was wrong, something kinda hurt him in a way similar to that of the Bloody Baron’s tantrums.

He had _known_ them, he thought, sort of like a teacher had. He knew their taste in pranks, their sense of humor, their talent, their comradery. He had never, in the seven years he’d known them, thought that Sirius Black, or _any_ Marauder, really, would murder one of his own comrades-in-arms, let alone be responsible for the deaths of _two_.

Of course he was bitter about it, just like their teachers were; he just hid it, choosing to take out his frustration on anyone walking by at the wrong time, unlike the professors who confided in each other in hushed talks in the staff room or their private quarters. Usually, Peeves tormented Filch more, because Filch was his favorite target, and his goal was always to drive him to the brink and maybe give him a mild coronary, so why not rush it a little?

Peeves did, however, talk about it one day. The Fat Friar was notorious for being forgiving where the poltergeist was concerned, and after one particularly nasty prank on Filch that the Friar had witnessed the end result of, the ghost had taken Peeves aside and asked him - probably the first time _anyone_ had asked him - if he was doing okay.

He talked; he knew the ghost would keep his trap shut. He told the Friar how pissed off he was, how _unfair_ it was, that two people he had known were murdered in such a stupid way. The Friar, ever patient, ever loyal, listened to him quietly and nodded, saying he knew exactly how Peeves felt and that it was completely normal. He let slip that Nearly-Headless Nick felt rather similarly - it made sense, seeing as all four Marauders had been in Gryffindor. Even if Peeves couldn’t stand Nick’s proper ways of doing things, he still liked the man, and even though he’d never tell them so, he felt a tad more appreciative of both ghosts that day.

Peeves had cooled down after that, but he still hoped Sirius would get his comeuppance in the worst way possible. It had to be something nasty, for a nasty back-stabber like that.

He had laughed, honestly _laughed_ , when Sirius Black was thrown in Azkaban. He _deserved_ to be miserable for the rest of his life, stuck in a moldy tower with beings that would drive him certifiably insane. The thought was as hilarious as it was justifiable.

And then, eleven years later, Black did the _unthinkable_ \- he broke out of prison. Azkaban had its first-ever breakout, and even Peeves was impressed. He wasn’t as angry - he was actually ecstatic at the thought of Black getting a taste of freedom before being hunted down like a fox. He’d be coming for little Harry, they all said it, and Peeves had _guessed_ it before the words even left their mouths. There wasn’t too much need to get a head full of steam over it, really - there was no way the United Kingdom, let alone the _world_ , would let Black get at wee Harry Potter.

And even _if_ he got inside the school, Dumbledore was there. He was a force to be feared on his own.

Then the Fat Lady was chased from her portrait, and he couldn’t help but enjoy all the chaos Sirius had stirred by breaking in - after all, the castle was _smart,_ and no matter how any Marauder thought they knew its’ secrets, it always had an extra trick up it’s sleeve. It could defend itself, as well as others, when it needed to. There was no way Sirius could escape if he was caught, especially with teachers and ghosts around every corner and the dementors waiting outside for a chance to eat his soul. Not to mention, Remus taught there now, too, and would more than likely be the biggest threat - a man with rightful hatred in his heart was a thing to be feared, and Peeves knew from ‘private’ conversations that Remus felt more betrayed over James and Peter’s deaths than anyone.

And of course, if it was _Peeves_ who caught him, then Sirius was going to be on the receiving end of any and every blade in the castle. Oh, he’d chase him for a while, and taunt him, too, but really what Sirius needed was a good knife to the gut. Maybe two. Maybe a serious burn thrown in. Wouldn’t hurt to pick off one of his non-vital limbs for funsies.

He wouldn’t kill him, even if Dumbledore hadn’t given him orders not to. He wanted the satisfaction of Sirius dreading the dementors, dreading death, begging for _mercy_. Peeves wanted what he always wanted from everyone he came into contact with - tears, anger and fear. He was practically made of it, after all.

And now he was finally going to get his little wish. The dementors were waiting, Sirius was locked up, the castle was filled with the promise of death, and finally, after twelve years, justice would be had and memories would be laid firmly to rest.

Peeves zoomed down the hall, cackling at the very thought of Sirius’ face screwed up in terror, the sweet feeling of fulfilled revenge fueling his laughter. He was going to be there for it if it was the last thing he’d do today. He didn’t even care that he couldn’t get close to the door.

He was a poltergeist, after all; he didn’t need to _see_ Black in order to feel his final moments. Just being able to feel Sirius Black’s soul disappear, with its murderous tendencies and double-agent persona, was going to satisfy him.

And why shouldn’t he enjoy it, really? Fucking bastard _deserved_ it.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the first in my new series, "The Castle Poltergeist"! This is a collection of one-shots that have to do with our favorite little hell-raiser, in one way or another. I write these when I am in need of some character exercise in-between my other writings. Some may cross-over with _A Ghost Too Far_ , but the majority are simple explorations of Peeves or other characters and subjects he deals with.
> 
> In this case, it was built out of a particular scene in PoA. You know, when Hermione and Harry are stuck hiding in a closet near the end of the story, and Peeves whooshes by cackling his ass off, and Hermione says something like "ooh he's horrible, he must be excited about Sirius' inevitable death"? Yeah, that scene. (It's okay if you forgot it, I only remember because I bookmarked every scene Peeves has ever been mentioned/actually in for Research Purposes, and I had forgotten it my first re-read, too.) My mind wandered off-track one day, and I decided to explore what Peeves actually thought of Sirius Black and the Marauders, and boom, this happened! Thanks for reading! ✧˖°ˈ·*ε-(๑˃́ε˂̀๑ )


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